


Merry Christmas Clint Barton

by peabodythecat



Category: Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Death off screen, Thoughts of Suicide, Yes the death is Phil, mention of childhood trauma and abuse, not Coulson lives compliant, post Battle of NY, starts out very very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peabodythecat/pseuds/peabodythecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint spent the first Christmas after Phil died in a one room cabin in Idaho with a shotgun and a hell of a lot of of moonshine. His mood swung from guilt wracked depression to self loathing to pure apathy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas Clint Barton

Clint spent the first Christmas after Phil died in a one room cabin in Idaho with a shotgun and a hell of a lot of of moonshine. His mood swung from guilt wracked depression to self loathing to pure apathy. Cabin, gun and booze came courtesy of Jolene Whiteman, the common-law wife of an unemployed guy in one of the anti-tax militia groups that grew in these mountains like mildew in a high school locker room. 

Jolene found herself in the unwelcome position of owing Clint a kindness after he saved her life. All Clint had been doing was pissing in the parking lot outside a shitty bar on the outskirts of Boise, when he heard the familiar sound of a man's fist connecting with a woman's jaw. 

In the garish glow of the Christmas lights strung around the building, he saw a bleach blonde in her late 40s, doubled over in pain while some ugly redneck sonofabitch with a sallow face and a prison tattoo stood over her screaming invective. The only thing missing from this delightful holiday tableaux, he thought completely without irony, is the six year old cowering in the corner. And even though he wasn't an Agent of SHIELD anymore, nor Hawkeye the Avenger, and he'd never been a real superhero anyways, no matter what Coulson said, he couldn't stand there with his dick in his hand and watch this woman who looked like his mother get the shit kicked out of her. 

The fight was quick and brutal. Jolene wanted to express her thanks with a blowjob and a crack pipe. Clint just wanted to get the hell out of the parking lot before the assholes buddies showed up. He drove her back to her trailer, declined the sex, but did ask her if she knew of a place he could rent for a few weeks. 

So, to recap, the cabin, the shotgun and the moonshine were provided by Jolene. The depression, self loathing and apathy, well, Clint brought those to Idaho all by his own self. Merry Fucking Christmas. 

*****  
Clint didn't blow his brains out that first Christmas, but it was a near thing. Instead he gave himself alcohol poisoning from drinking 8 mason jars of moonshine. He almost died in that cabin. But almost is what defines Clint Barton (almost good enough for his parents, for Barney, for Trickshot, for Fury, for Phil...almost a hero...almost) so instead of dying in a puddle of vomit and alcohol he woke up in a Motel 6, staring at the worried face of Captain America. When Clint started to cry, he didn't know if the tears were from sheer relief or utter despair.   
*****  
Clint spent the second Christmas after Phil died in New York. Stark had thrown a party and insisted that all the Avengers attend. Clint found it easier to just go along. Playing the role of carefree teammate was simple. After all, he had years of practice hiding his real feelings. He learned subterfuge as a child, at his father's knee. Hard lessons taught by harder fists. Don't cry, don't flinch, don't cry out. Then at the circus, don't miss, don't tell, don't ever, ever tell. Convincing Pepper Potts that he was having a blast and just needed some fresh air...child's play. 

******

Steve stood in the shadows watching Clint. The archer was perched on the uppermost ledge of Avengers tower gazing out over the city. He looked like he was on watch; vigilant. That's certainly what he'd tell anyone who asked what in the world was he doing up here on Christmas Eve instead of enjoying the food and music and presents and people down at the party. He'd tell anyone who asked that he was on guard. But that would be a lie. And Steve knew it. 

The moon was nearly full, silvery light bathing Clint, making him look ethereal, like someone out of a memory, or a dream. Sometimes, after 70 years caught in the ice, it was hard for Steve to tell the difference between memories and dreams. He wonders if Clint would understand that. He thinks he would. 

Steve's wishes ... now his were a different story. He very clearly knows what he wishes for. He wishes he'd never lost Bucky in an icy ravine in The Alps. He wishes Howard Stark had known what a good man his son had become. He wishes Tony had known Howard when he was happy and hopeful, not bitter and disappointed. He wishes he could trust Nick Fury. He wishes he could tell Clint he loves him. He wishes that if he did tell, that Clint would believe him. 

He doesn't dare to wish that Clint could love him in return. 

No, Steve doesn't harbor any illusions about this wish ever being granted. Clint's heart belongs to another. It belongs to Coulson, a good man, the best man, dead these years: a memory, a dream, a wish. 

*****  
Clint spent the third Christmas after Phil died in his apartment in Bed-Stuy. He was curled up on the couch with Lucky on Christmas Eve, watching the snow fall outside. He realized that he felt...at peace. The past year had been eventful...but in a good way. The team had finally come together, had worked through the dramas that were inevitable when so many big personalities were in the same space for a prolonged period of time. They'd done some amazing things as Avengers and Clint was proud to have been a part of it all. 

He was thinking about the team when he realized he was thinking mostly about Cap...about Steve. That had been happening a lot lately. He realized he thought about Steve the way he used to think about Phil: as somebody he was comfortable with, somebody who understood the violent life he led, somebody who knew about the nightmares, but who also knew about the thrill of jumping out of a plane. Somebody who had seen him at his worst, but still expected his best. Somebody he trusted...somebody he...

He heard soft knocking on his door. "It's open," he called. He rolled off the couch, expecting to see his neighbor, Simone. Simone had stashed her kids presents in Clint's spare room. "They won't think to look over here," she told him with a grin on her face. Simone loved Christmas and lived for the look of amazement on her kids' faces on Christmas morning when they saw presents under the tree. That's just one of the things Clint loves about Simone. 

Instead of his neighbor, however, Steve Rogers was coming through the door with a six pack of Red Hook and a sack of tamales. Lucky bounded over to Steve, making undignified sounds as he flopped onto his back, belly exposed, begging to be petted. Steve greeted the little dog, slipping him a treat and then looked shyly at Clint.

"I hope you don't mind," he began. But Clint gestured him silent, simultaneously making grabby hands for the tamales and waving for Steve to come make himself comfortable. 

"If those are Rosario's tamales, you made my Christmas wish come true," Clint said. 

Steve laughed and handed over the bag. "She made me promise to share them with you," he told his friend, "For some reason she likes you best." And at those words Clint Barton blushed deep deep red. 

And Steve couldn't help himself. He slowly reached out, giving Clint plenty of time to back away, to put a stop to it. He cupped Clint's face in his strong hands and drew him in. Just before their lips touched, Steve whispered, "This ok?" 

Clint drew back slightly, his changeable eyes looking very very blue. He nodded, because he didn't have the words. Steve smiled and then kissed him.   
*****  
The fourth Christmas after Phil died, Clint and Steve threw a party on the roof of the apartment building. It was chilly, but all their friends came anyways. There was a giant evergreen tree, a 12 footer, right in the center, decorated just like Steve remembered from his childhood, with popcorn garlands, paper stars and glittery egg carton ornaments. Tony had hired a band. Everyone was laughing, and eating and singing. Steve was in his glory, wearing a Santa hat, surrounded by kids. Clint, by nature more reserved, was talking quietly with Bruce and Natasha. He looked up once and saw Steve gazing at him with a look of such fondness that it nearly broke Clint's heart. After Phil, he'd never dreamed he would ever again have this. 

That night, the night before Christmas, after the last toast was made, the last cookie eaten, the last present opened, and all their friends departed, Clint and Steve stood alone on the roof. They stood hand in hand gazing out at the nearly full moon. 

Clint's sharp eyes picked out the first star to appear. He pointed it out to Steve and said playfully, "You know I am a terrible shopper, so if you want a Christmas present, you better speak now." Steve frowned, not following.

"Go on, the star...make a wish," Clint explained.

"I don't have to," Steve said softly, "Mine already came true." He squeezed Clint's hand tightly. "Merry Christmas Clint Barton."

The End.


End file.
